


Welcome to Underland

by Peace_Love_and_MyFandoms



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fairytale Land AU, Hurt/Comfort, Injured characture, Medical Trauma, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 17:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18921496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peace_Love_and_MyFandoms/pseuds/Peace_Love_and_MyFandoms
Summary: There is a place, not unlike our own, where those thought of as myths still exist. This place is called Underworld.After Bucky saves Steve from the Patomic River and learns his real name, Bucky heads back to Europe. While traveling he ends up in the middle of a snow-covered dark wood, different from the spring forest he entered.It is not long until he feels the eyes following him, the crunch of fresh snow, and the sudden silence.There are wolves in those woods.





	Welcome to Underland

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second fic I have posted and unlike my last one, this is self-contained. I hope you like it.

She stomped her way through the recently fallen snow. Each step breaking through a thin layer of ice before reaching the powder beneath. It had been the hour of freezing rain that had kept her from her home until now. The sky, which had been grey all day was getting darker. It was almost night, maybe an hour before it was full dark. She’d been lucky, if someone at the pub had not been traveling this way already she would not have been able to make it home before… well, it was a good thing she could see the lights of her small cabin up the hill. 

“Almost home Pip.” She said to the small, stick-like creature that was hiding from the freezing wind in her scarves. Pip squeaked and stuck his beady-eyed head out to watch as they approached warmth. 

As soon as she stepped into the light of one of her windows she saw a curtain shift and a moment later the door swung open. “Thank goodness your back.” Her short stout neighbor said. Pointed red hat already atop her head. 

Her neighbor beckoned her inside. She stopped her feet several time on the wooden porch before stepped into her own home. The warmth hit her instantly, glasses fogging up at the edges. She was already starting to sweat as she politely waited for Mrs.Kniff to do up her own outdoor gear. 

“Do you have someone to bring you home?” she asked the little woman whose tall hat barely came up to her hip. 

“Yes yes. Galvin’s been outback with the reindeer for the last few hours. We were starting to think you were not coming back tonight.”

“The rain kept me away, otherwise I would have called.” She held out Mrs.Kniff’s scarf to the older woman who took it and wrapped it around her neck several times. 

“I figured as much. He’s been fine by the way. I cleaned the dressings and tidied the place a bit while I was here. There’s a strew on the fire. Try not to forget about it this time.” 

“Thank you Mrs.Kniff. I did not want to leave him alone while I did what I needed to do in town.” She followed her neighbor out the front door and along the wrap around porch. Sure enough, there was a reindeer waiting patiently at the edge, while Mrs.Kniffs oldest son sat on her rocking chair smoking a pipe that was almost as long as he was. Seeing his mother he quickly jumped down, red pointed hat threatening to fall off his head as he did so. The two used the reindeer's mane to climb onto it’s back and with a click of bell covered reins they were off into the forest behind her home. 

Glancing up at the nearly dark sky she figured that they would be home before full dark. The reindeer was fast enough and they lived just through a small offshoot of the wood and down the hill. But still, she waited on her porch a little longer than usual. One ear to the wind to make sure there were no howls or cries for help. 

It was Pip who drew her from her serenity. He tugged on her earing and sticking half of his little body out of her scarf pointed to the house and mimed, or not, shivering. 

She smiled down at her little friend and constant companion. Then she walked back around the house and once she stepped inside, locked the door behind her. There was a bag of herbs by the door that she sprinkled next, just to be safe on a night with no stars. 

Turing back into the room, she glanced over at her bed in the corner. The occupant was just where she’d left him. Although the knitted blanket was now neatly tucked in around him so only his head was uncovered. Mrs.Kniff must have brushed his hair as well because it now lay smoother against the white of the pillow. 

She kept one eye on the bed as she removed her outer layers of clothing and started putting the groceries and supplies she’d gone to town for away. She’d just checked the strew and put the kettle on the stove when he steered. Pip who had been hanging from the headboard to watch him squeaked when he’d shifted and clambered back up the headboard. 

It was only a minor adjustment, but she still walked across the small space to check on him. Pulling the covers down she first checked the pulse in his neck. It was stronger than it had been when she’d first found him. It was a good sign. Next, she lifted the lower half of the blanket to check the heavily bandaged leg. Mrs.Kniff had done an excellent job wrapping it, even got him out of the tattered boxers she’d left him in and changed him into one of her extra sets of pajamas. They were loose on his muscular frame. She tried not to notice but she did, she was only human after all. Well, mostly human….human-ish.

After taking a peek under the bandages to make sure the wounds were no worse than they’d been, she tucked the blanket carefully back around his leg. She would need to take steps soon if he was going to heal without permanent damage. But that could wait. The herb soaked twine that kept the curse at bay was still strong. She needed to get a few things ready before she intervened. 

Next, she wanted to check the scar tissue around his left arm. The cold of the snow and the metal had turned the skin around the prosthetic a bright red color that she had not liked. Leaning over the bed, she pulled back the cover and lightly touched the skin around the metal.

In an instant, the metal arm was up and at her throat. Before she could think he was up out of the bed, her head slammed into the hardwood floor, only slightly cushioned by the thick rugs she’d placed there. Pip screamed and jumped off the headboard, scrabbling up her attacker’s back and trying to get at his eyes. She could not breathe. He was right on top of her. She grabbed at his hands. But no luck, the only thing to do was. 

She slapped a hand onto his flesh-and-blood arm, forcing a shot of cold from the wind outside mixed with that of the frozen lake through him. It was enough to put down any man.

He jerked back, moving to stand but his wounded leg collapsing underneath him. As he went down with a thud, she scrambled away, hoarsely calling Pips name. The small creature had tried to get at the man’s eyes but with all the movement he’d only managed to leave a number of bloody scraps on his flesh shoulder which the man did not seem to notice. 

Crouching before the fireplace one hand extended back towards it, the other pushing up her glass before raising towards the man. She was trying to take in air, it hurt as it made its way down her sore throat. She’d fix that later, now she needed to put her attention on the man. The man who was not entirely paying attention to her. His eyes darted around her small cabin. Looking for an escape route or just trying to orientate himself. The bandage around his leg was starting to turn dark with blood. 

“It’s ok.” She croaked, her voice a barely audible. Trying to clear her throat she winced. Taking the risk, she put her hand to her own throat and soothed the pain. Trying again she said. “It’s ok. You’re safe.”

He looked at her then, tense and wild-eyed. Putting her palm up she said, as softly and calmly as she could. “I found you in the woods two days ago. Brought you back here. You are injured.”

She inched closer but he jerked back, pain from trying to move his injured leg, or maybe something else played across his face. 

“I need to treat the wound. It’s bleeding through the bandage.” She tried to move closer, but he jerked back again, knocking over the small shelf of books and pictures that sat at the end of her bed. A few of the frames crashed behind him. He did not seem to notice. She winced, leaning back on her heels. She waited. He stayed tense, watching her through a curtain of hair, his forehead was damp with sweat and he was breathing heavily. 

“I can just wait for you to bleed out if you would like but that would make what I have to do harder.”

He seemed to think about her words before looking at the floor. She crawled a step closer. He tensed but did not make a move. Taking that as a good sign. She grabbed the scissors from the table and turned a nearby lamp towards his leg. The bandaged was now entirely soaked. Quickly she cut away the bandage. The large bite mark was bleeding steadily. 

Pulling the sheet from the bed, she balled it up and instructed him to put pressure on the wound. He was pale, lips turning blue as he nodded and did as he was told. 

She would need to take a few short cuts, but if she hurried she would be able to save the leg. Gabbing the ingredients from the kitchen, she threw it all on the ground in front of him.  
Holding the container of salt she motioned him to lift the sheet covering his wound, he did and she poured a healthy amount of salt onto his wound. It fizzled and a red cloud of mist seemed to come off of it. He screamed, his metal arm scraping the floor as he groped for something to hold onto it.

Once that was done, she pulled the length of herb-infused twine that was around his upper leg off and placed it in the bowl. 

Next, she took pinches of herbs from different containers and twisted the blood-soaked bandage into the bowl, letting the blood seep in the herbs. That done she checked his pulse with a bloody finger. It was getting weak and his breathing was raged as he leaned against the bedpost gripping it with one strong hand.

She did not have much time. 

Pulling a small piece of kindling out of the fire she tossed it into the bowl. It caught on the ingredients inside, which burned white for a second before going out. Pouring the ashy contents of the bowl onto his leg. He thrashed again but she placed both her hands on the wound, pressing down and concentrating. Pulling energy from herself, from the mixture of magical herbs and blood, she used magic to push out the last of the curse. Red mist curled out from beneath her hands.

She kept the pressure on his leg, both mentally and physically, until there was no more red mist coming from his leg. 

Breathing hard she leaned back and reached behind her for the pitcher of snowmelt by the door. Without warning the panting and shaking man, she poured the pitcher of cold pure water on his bloody leg. He gasped but otherwise held still. 

Wiping away the herbs, salt, and blood she examined the wound over the top of her glasses. Everything looked normal. The bite no longer a curse was just a bite. 

She breathed out a sigh of relief. It had worked. 

Before she could rest thought, she needed to bandage the bite, it could still get infected and she did not have the energy to fix THAT. His color looked better already even if his eyes were unfocused and he was breathing hard.

Once he was bandaged and dragged back into bed, she draped the fallen blanket over his semi-conscious body. Stepping back, she collapsed into the chair by the fire. She closed her eyes for a minute, steadied her heart and them opened her eyes again. His eyes, which had been squeezed shut or unfocused through much of what she’d done were open. Staring at her. Bright blue-grey and clearer than they’d been before. 

“Thank you.” He croaked, voice hoarse from his own screams. She did not remember him screaming but she’d been focused on other things. 

“Twas nothing.” She slurred, flapping a tired hand in his direction. “Welcome to the Woodland. Now get some rest.”

He did not need any encouragement, as soon as his eyes closed, he was asleep. He was breathing steadily and the tension that had engulfed him since the moment he’d woken up was gone. Making him look almost sweet.

Coughing she rubbed her sore throat. Remembering how that “sweet man” had tried to strangle her. Thinking about how she might have done the same thing in his position, she pulled the stew away from the fire and ladled a healthy portion into a bowl for herself. 

Once she ate, she would clean up the mess. At least that is what she told herself. After three bites of the hearty soup, she took her glasses off, put her head down on the table to rest her eyes for just second, and promptly lost consciousness.

 

She was passed out when the man in her bed woke up again. Glancing over the now dime room, the fire had gone down to not much more than embers, he saw her slumped over the small kitchen table, head resting on her arm. Blood had dried along her arms and from what he could see from the bed, her hair was a tangled mess. The glasses that sat in front of her on the table glinted in the remaining light.

Pip, ever the watchful guardian sat on the headboard and looked down at the man. The little green stick man was the last thing he saw before unconsciousness overtook him again. 

She was still passed out at the table when her house guest woke up the next morning. Cool blue light making its way past her curtains and brightening the room enough that he could see everything clearly. With his newfound state of consciousness came the natural bodily processes one has when ones been passed out for days. He needed to pee. 

There were three doors set into the far wall. Slowly, trying not to wake the sleeping woman, he pushed himself to a sitting position. His leg screamed and his head spun but he managed it. Pushing the covers off, he moved his injured leg off the bed. Clenching his teeth through the pain he slid to the edge of the bed and tried to propel himself into a standing position. 

The movement and resulting grunt woke the sleeping woman up. She sat up so quickly that she almost knocked the cold bowl of stew from the table and wrenched her neck. Catching the bowl before it fell, she slide it back on the table and rubbed her stiff neck with one hand blinking around. Pushing her glasses back on her face, she blinked a few more times, willing her vision to clear of sleep. The room was cold, and her fingers were stiff. 

The man was half sitting on the edge of her bed. Clearly trying to leave. His face was tense with pain and he was sweating in the cold room. She pushed herself up, her tired muscles complaining.

Hoarsely she commented as she approached him. “Going somewhere?” 

His eyes flicked to the doors on the other side of the room. 

She guessed what he might need and stepped closer. “I’m going to help you stand. Don’t put pressure on that leg yet.” She’d hesitated, not wanting a repeat of what had happened the night before. 

But trusting that she could hold him off again if he tried anything, she shuffled forward and crouched down beside him. Not looking at her, he lifted his arm and she place it around her shoulders. Using her legs she slowly straightened. The arm around her soft shoulders tensed and gripped her tight. Slowly with small hopping steps they made it across the small room and to the central of the three doors. 

Balancing him with one hand she reached forward and opened the door to the small bathroom. Thankfully the toilet was closest to the door. There was an awkward moment where she was giving herself a silent pep talk to help him but he took his arm from around her shoulders and gripped the door frame. White-faced he hoped into the bathroom. Holding onto the wall and small sink across from the toilet. She closed the door gently behind him and walked over to the now cold fireplace. 

Crouching down on stiff legs, she rubbed her cold hands together. Blowing on them for warmth. Building up the fire again, she kept an ear out for any loud noises that could mean he’d collapsed in the bathroom. Once the logs were in place, she rubbed her hands together again. Calling to her the remembered heat from fires past. Glowing red hot she placed her hands in the nest of kindling at the base of her tent. They burst into flames. She kept her hands in the crackling fire for a moment longer, making sure it would produce enough heat quickly enough to warm the place before everything froze. 

Shuffling back from the fire she heard the bathroom door creak. Turning she saw her guest leaning against the open bathroom door. Arms gripping the door frame. He was watching her. 

But for how long, she thought. 

He did not flinch when she got up to help him again, but his gaze did linger on her hands. She wondered if he remembered how she’d gotten him off her the night before. Possibly not. Instead of bringing him back to the now cold bed, she steered him toward the chair next to the steadily growing fire. 

Turning to get him into the chair without banging or bending his injured leg was the hardest part. Once he was settled, she found the quilted blanket and tucked it around his shoulders before picking up the materials from the previous night. Once everything was put away, and the bloodstained rags and sheet were cinders in the fire she stood and stretched out her back and neck. There were audible pops when she did so. 

Going over to the sink in the small kitchen she washed her hands and arms and poured them both glasses of water. Gulping down hers, the water eased and aggravated her throat, she handed him his glass. He looked at it for a second before doing the same. He must have washed his hands in the bathroom because they were clean, save for dirt or dried blood under his figure nails. Pulling over a stool she sat down in front of him with a long old fashioned black medical bag. 

Meeting his eyes for the first time since he’d come out of the bathroom she smiled at him. 

Something she hoped was reassuring. 

With great care she leaned forward and started cutting away the bandages from the night before. The wound was angry red but no longer bleeding. It looked like a giant wolf had sunk its teeth into the soft tissue just above the knee. She hissed when she saw the whole wound. It must hurt something bad, but he was not complaining. Pulling out a bottle of generic painkillers she handed it to him, but he shook his head. 

“This is going to hurt. I need to poke around a bit before I change the bandages again.” 

He shook his head and after placing his cup on the floor gripped the arms of the chair. Staring straight ahead, his face blank, he waited. 

Throwing the bottle back into the bag she pulled out a clean square of linen and soaked the rag in a bottle of alcohol. Carefully and as gently as she could she leaned forward and wiped dried blood and from around his wounds and checked the deep punctures for signs of infection. 

Using her free hand, she gently touched the worst of the wounds and pulled a little of his own energy into those areas to heal them faster. His energy was strong for someone who’d been through whatever he’d been through. Maybe HE was not entirely human. 

Pulling more bandages from her bag along with a bottle of her precious healing salve she had gotten from the healing woman on the other side of the land, she dabbed a little of the salve on some of the worst areas. Checking again for signs of infection she wrapped up his leg. 

He’d been silent as she poked and prodded his wound but his hands were gripping the arms of the chair so hard she could see the whites of his knuckles. She wondered how the wood was handling under that metal arm. 

Looking him over, the pajama set was in tattered, the pant leg was stiff with dried blood and would probably not be able to unroll until it was wet. The other leg was spattered with blood. The short sleeved matching plaid button up was ripped on the should Pip had taken offense too and also spattered with blood. 

“Except for the scratches, which should be cleaned. Any other injuries?” She asked, elbows on her knees as she took out another rag and poured alcohol on it. 

Still staring ahead, he shook his head. She did not believe him, but any bruises could wait and she had not noticed anything broke when she’d first brought him home, not that she’d been looking that closely. 

Standing up, she walked around him and tugged on the blanket. He pulled his arm out and held it up for her to see. 

Pip had gotten some good cuts in. Nothing that a little alcohol and a few bandages would not fix. As she dabbed the alcohol-soaked cloth on his shoulder she saw a muscle tense in his jaw. It had to hurt, but he stayed silent all the same.

Before she put away her medicine bag she pushed the now cold strew back over the fire. At this heat, it would warm up quickly. The kettle was the next thing to go back over the fire. She was too tired to move very far so after collecting bowls, mugs and the special willow branch tea, for pain relief, she dragged an extra quilt from under her bed and wrapped it around herself as she gratefully sat cross-legged in front of the fire. Her rugs and the warmth of the fire comforting to her tired body. 

The man had not moved, but his eyes had followed her around the room. It felt very strange to be watched in her own home. It was not until she finally sat down that he took his eyes off her and instead stared into the fire. 

They were silent for a long time. It was not until the water had boiled and she poured them both mugs of the strong tea that she spoke.

“What’s your name?” She asked when she reached up to hand him a mug. 

Wincing slightly as he leaned forward, he took the steaming earth ware mug from her. Holding it to his chest and using the blanket to keep from burning his hands he stared into the dark liquid. 

It had been long enough that she was sure he was not going to answer when he spoke but it was too hoarse to hear. Clearing his throat he tried again. “Bucky… My name is Bucky.”

She smiled to herself, blowing on her mug. “Morgan.” Looking over her shoulder and up at him, she continued. “Nice to meet you Bucky.” 

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Morgan too tired to try and think of anything to say and Bucky, well, he was comfortable remaining silent. 

They were both shoving mouthfuls of warm stew into their mouths when there was a frantic knock on the door.

“Morgana!” A high voice shouted from outside. 

“What!” Morgan yelled back, too tired to want to get up and unlock the door for Mrs.Kniff. 

The door rattled and swung opened. Morgan’s spare key in the lock. Mrs.Kniff’s tiny body and tall hat outlined by a clear blue sky. 

“So you are alive,” Mrs.Kniff said as she sidled into Morgan’s home, uninvited. Three of her younger children followed behind her, all holding weapons and packs. 

“Yes. And not infected.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” She sniffed. “It smells like. Let me see your eyes child.”

Morgan widened her eyes at the older woman. Mrs.Kniff grabbed her chin in one small, and sharp-nailed hand. Turing her head this way and that. Pip squeaked in protest for the rough treatment of his friend from his place on the now-upright nightstand. 

“You looked exhausted.” She observed and then squinted at first Morgan and then Bucky. Who started back, wide-eyed. “You didn’t!”

Morgan tried to hide her wince by looking down at her bowl of stew. “Did what?”

“You stupid child! Always trying to improve what should. NOT. BE. CHANGED.” Mrs.Kniff rounded on Morgan. Round face flushed and pointy finger jabbing at Morgan’s blanket-covered chest. 

Bucky, clearly confused by the small woman or what she was talking about stayed still in his chair. 

Morgan rolled her eyes, suddenly more tired then she’d been the previous night. Grabbing Morgan’s face in her hand Mrs.Kniff scolded, firmly yet kindly. “Look at you. You’re useless. Well, that’s what you get for trying to do what is not yours to do.”

Looking around the room Mrs.Kniff motioned for her children to put down their weapons and help her. “Let’s get her into that chair, while we clean up.”

“You start with the man. Get him cleaned up. Carefully! She put a lot into keeping him alive, don’t want you mice undoing all her work.” She ordered the tallest of the small people.

Bucky, clearly confused by the small woman but understanding that he was him made to get up but Mrs.Kniff waved him back down with a glare.

Pulling out a walki talki from her coat pocket Mrs.Kniff called in reinforcements. 

Speaking quietly to Morgan she pushed down the bigger woman’s eyelids and said soothingly. “Sleep now, child. I’ll set it to rights.”

“Thanks Auntie.” Morgan murmured before falling into sweet unconsciousness thanks to a touch of magic.

Morgan woke up with a start. Sitting straight up in bed she peered around the bright room. It took her a moment to orientate herself. This was her home but something was different. It was brighter and airier than it usually was. Her curtains were open, letting in the bright winter sun. The fire was going, and her dishes were all put away. Checking the floor there were no blood stains. Looking down at herself, she’d been washed, dried and dressed in a simple long nightgown. One that she was not sure she owned. If she’d lived anywhere else she might suspect foul play but it was just Mrs.Kniff’s way. 

Bucky was nowhere to be seen. 

Swinging her legs out of bed and putting her glasses on, Morgan thought she heard something. Listening, she heard it again. The sound of Mrs.Kniffs voice. It was coming from outside. Looking out the back window Morgan saw the top of Mrs.Kniffs hat and the back of what she assumed was Bucky’s head. They were sitting on the bench out back, seemingly watching Mrs.Kniffs grandchildren play with their reindeer. 

Stuffing her feet into boots and wrapping her longest coat around herself Morgan opened the front door and walked around her wide porch. 

“Good morning Morgana,” Mrs.Kniff said primly. 

“Morning. How long was I out.” Morgan felt awkward, Bucky was smiling and seemed at least at ease as he watched the little ones play in the snow. His smile faded as he looked at her. Not her, but her throat.

A crease showed between his dark brows. “I’m sorry.” 

Morgan touched her throat and it was still sore. If he noticed it must be bruised. She was just about to pull on her own energy to heal it when a snowball hit her in the side of the head. Sending cold now down the nightdress. Morgan gasped and tried to wipe the reaming snow off of herself. 

“Don’t you dare Morgana La Frey!” Mrs.Kniff scolded. “You nearly killed yourself going against nature to heal this young man. No magic for you for a while.”

Morgan frowned at the old woman who glared back. “You should have let the herbs and his own will work against the curse.”

“But he would have died.” Morgan started. 

“Maybe. Instead, you forced the issue as I warned you never to do.” Using her own magic Mrs.Kniff pulled Morgan towards the bench and moved aside so she could sit on the other side of the old woman. “It’s a miracle you didn’t curse yourself.”

Morgan consented and sat down on the bench hard. Mrs.Kniff patted her hand. “Now that you have been properly scolded. You’ve been asleep for a whole day and I’ve filled your young man in on where he is.”

Morgan glanced over Mrs.Kniffs head and met Bucky’s eyes. He seemed relaxed, leaning against the side of her home. Mrs.Kniff had found clothes that fit him somewhere. Those she knew where not hers.

“He seems to be running from his own past, same as you were when you came to us all those years ago. I’ve explained that aside from the dark nights he can be safe here. Once he is mobile you’ll have to go to the town magistrate and sponsor him.”

Morgan opened her mouth to object but closed it again. She’d been the one to find him half dead in the snow behind her house that night. She has been the one to fight off the cursed wolves and drag him into the light. He was her responsibility. 

“I thought so.” Mrs.Kniff continued seeing the determination on her friends face. “Now that you’re awake I can be going. Give you two time to know each other.”

When she was gone, Morgan turned to Bucky. “Welcome to Underland, home of misfits, magic, and fairytales.”

Bucky chuckled, glad to have found a place where no one could find him, they did not speak Russian, and where there was someone who could stop him if they did. As Mrs.Kniff had said. Morgana La Fey was the biggest baddest witch that ever lived. An ex-monster, just like him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you like it.


End file.
